Nightmare Again
by The Josie In The Rye
Summary: In desperation, Bentley throws Sly's old cap into the Time Machine. But where and when they end up forces Sly to re-live some of his worst memories. Rated M for dark and graphic themes.


**First Cooper fic. I rated this M for a reason. Very, very dark and angsty. Proceed only if you feel comfortable with having your childhood traumatized.**

* * *

 _ **Nightmare Again**_

As the van hurdled into the ravine, it felt like we were in slow motion. The thought that our adventures were over flashed through my mind, as I braced for the crash. I was clinging to the front of the car, desperately trying to get anywhere else, knowing that the weight would crush me in the impact. The fact that a fall from this height is fatal, car or not, didn't cross my mind.

I was staring up at the faces of my friends. Murray's hands were still clutching the wheel, as though he could steer us away from the death below. Bentley had a defeated look upon his face, and a hand on the hippo's shoulder, as though he was saying goodbye. Carmelita just seemed surprised with her wide eyes and open mouth. Things were flying around between them. Tools and equipment, Murray's necklace. All around me were pieces of the train.

The wind clawed at me and relieved me of my hat. Just as I thought that the outline of it against the sun would be the last thing I ever saw, Carmelita reached out her hand, and snatched into safety. I didn't know why. And from her still bewildered expression, she didn't either. But just like the wind stole from me, and she stole from the wind, Bentley ripped it from her hands and threw it into the back. And before I knew it there was no sky or ravine or death, and we were flying through the time vortex. The sudden change of direction cost me my grip, and my body crashed against the side of the van before I tumbled onwards. My cane caught hold of the rear bumper and I hung on for dear life. Nevertheless, even with gloves, my hands slipped. I whirled through the empty space. There is no up and down in a wormhole. I closed my eyes and waited for it all the be over.

A fraction of a second after, my cheek was kissed by hard, cold, wet cement. I couldn't hear anything; my ears were ringing. And I couldn't see anything, cause my vision was filled with black spots and dancing stars. Was there a possibility that I was dead? A pain took hold of my body and convinced me otherwise. Slowly, but surely, I became aware of my surroundings.

I was on the ground. It was raining lightly. It was night. With a groan, I sat up.

"Sly! Buddy! Are you okay?"

In the dark, I noticed the van next to me. The front window was… well, _gone_ , and Bentley was in the back, stretching his long neck to get a better view.

"I'm fine," I said. "And by fine, I mean Not Dead. You guys?"

"I think we're okay," he replied. "My chair needs fixing, and my glasses broke, but otherwise… Murray?"

Our big friend was breathing heavily and fast. "That… was… AWESOME! Can we do it again?" Murray. Always eager to see death in the eyes. It hurt, but I couldn't help but smile. That was, until I noticed a person missing. "Inspector Fox? Carmelita?" There was no answer. "Carmelita?" I asked with more desperation.

"Easy, Sly," said Bentley. "She's alright, I think. Just a minor concussion.

The words _I think_ got me wobbling on my feet. With a little effort, I made it to the passenger seat. And there she was, just as the turtle had said. Her head was back against the seat, eyes closed, but chest rising and falling. There was a cut on her forehead, and blood had been smeared into her facial fur and hair. I took off my glove and put my hand to her face. "Charm?"

I had barely touched her before her eyelids flew up, and she grabbed my wrist with a fierceness you wouldn't think to find in a lady. I gave out a yelp of surprise. "It's just me, it's just me!"

Carmelita let go and took measure of the situation. "Sorry," she said in a way to let me know, that she in no way was sorry. "What the hell happened? Where are we?"

Bentley peeped up from the back. He looked rather disarrayed. His spectacles were crooked, and the left glass was smashed. "I must admit that for once, I am clueless," he said in his raspy voice. "My actions were spontaneous." And he explained how he had thrown the first thing he could find into his time machine. Which was my hat. "Any idea where we might be, Sly? Not even to mention _when_?"

"Sorry, pal. I'm blank. I've had it for as long as I can remember." Thinking about it, I felt naked without it. Especially with the rain lightly padding my head. "Any chance I could have it back?"

Bentley tossed to me through the broken windshield. It was warm and smelled slightly burned but was otherwise intact. Placing it on my head, I immediately felt better. "Let's find out where we are, shall we?"

While Murray rummaged the back for Bentley's spare wheelchair, I offered to help Carmelita out of the car. She of course swatted my hand away and climbed out herself. The rain made blood from her wound trickle down her face.

"Hey, let me see that." I took a step closer and felt her fist press against my chest.

"I'm fine. It's just a scratch, I've had worse," she said annoyed.

I raised my eyebrow and held her eyes for a minute, before she broke down.

"Fine," she spit, letting her arm fall to her side. "But don't you try anything, ringtail."

Smirking, I put on an offended tone. "Why, I would never!"

But as I reached up my right arm to inspect her forehead, I sharp pain shot from my side. It seemed to stretch all the way to the tip of my tail. Crying out, I bowled over, clutching my side. "Ah!"

"Sly!" Carmelita fell to her knees and put her soft hand on my cheek. All sass and annoyance had left her voice, leaving only concern. "Sly, look at me!"

The pain subsided, and I lifted my chin up. "Don't worry," I managed to get out through my clenched teeth. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch, I've had worse."

Maybe I was a bit delusional from pain, but I thought I saw the smallest of smiles spread on the fox's face. The moment was short lived though, and I couldn't be certain.

"I'm not so sure," said Bentley, rolling up beside me in a very normal, very un-Bentley wheelchair. "You might have a broken rib or two. Or five. You took quite a fall there. We need to get you to a hospital."

I tried to snort, but it turned into a whimper instead. "Hospital? We don't even know where or when we are, hospitals might not even have been invented yet!" The chances were good though, based on how modern the alley we had dumped down in looked. Concrete, trashcans, the unmistakable smell of traffic. Though that might just have been the van.

"Uh, guys," called Murray, standing at the alley's entry and pointing to something we couldn't see. "I don't know about when, but I have a pretty good guess about _where_ we've landed."

Without me having to ask, Carmelita bend down and placed my arm around her shoulders, helping me move. I blinked at her as thanks, and she gave me a look saying _don't mention it._

Next to Murray, following his finger with my gaze, I could why he had so easily figured out our destination. Over the many rooftops of the city, stood a sight so beautiful and familiar, I could have cried. Sparkling with all its lights, the Eiffel Tower lit up against a black sky.

I couldn't believe our luck. "We… we're home…"

"Based on our view of the city," said Bentley, already analyzing our surrounding, "I would estimate that we are somewhere in Montmartre. Pretty high up the hill, not far from Sacre Cæur. And the when part… hmm… not more than 30 years back, at the max."

I looked around and knew instantly that he was right. The narrow streets, the cobblestone, the artistic graffiti on every wall – this was definitely Montmartre. But it was more than that. It was like it was too familiar. The sights, the sounds, even the smell seemed to be calling out to me.

"I know this place…" I wasn't sure if I said it out loud or not. I left Carmelita's side, walking down the street. My feet seemed to know where they where going. _Two rights and a left…_ I thought to myself. I knew the way, I just didn't know where it lead. Still I was going.

"Sly! Where're you going?" Bentley yelled after me.

Not looking back, I repeated my words: "I know this place!"

My pain all but forgotten, I sped up, and could hear the others follow behind me. They called out my name, or at least I think they did, but not even a train at top speed could have stopped me. I clawed my way through the night like I was desperate. Wherever my feet were taking me, it was like my life depended on getting there as fast as possible. I turned a corner.

What I saw made my stop dead in my tracks. There, under a lamppost, cascaded in its yellow light, stood a woman. I recognized her in heartbeat, though it had been half a lifetime since I saw her for the last time. I could have recognized her anywhere. I knew every detail of her face, how she walked, I could recall the sweet smell of her hair. My legs grew weak, and a grabbed the wall for support. I was crying. Or maybe it was just the rain.

Carrying a light bag, she strolled down the street at an easy tempo. I made to follow, scared I would lose her around the corner, when someone grabbed my arm. Momentarily, the pain in my side flashed through me.

"Hold up, Sly," I heard Carmelita say from behind me. "What are you…"

As I turned to face her, her voice trailed off. She looked shocked and let go of my arm, taking a step back. Guess I really was crying.

Bentley looked up at me, the fear shining out of him in every line of his face. "Sly…"

"We have to catch up to her," I said, turning back to the woman. I could hear the strain in my own voice. She was almost all the way down the street.

"Who?" Bentley asked me in a calming tone, the one you use with frightened children. "Do you know that woman?"

Tearing myself from her figure, I finally met Bentley's eyes. I could feel hot tears streaming down my cheeks. They tasted salty and my eyes burned unpleasantly. "It's my mother." My voice cracked at the final word; raw and high pitched. "She's my mother."

Bentley's jaw dropped slightly, and he gazed after the young woman, fixating on the striped tail peeking out from under her coat. "Are you sure?" he asked, but it was so easy to hear he didn't need any convincing.

"I have to talk to her, I have to-"

"Wow, wow!" Bentley stopped me. I can't imagine the pain he must have felt when he had to turn down his best friend's hope of reuniting with his long-lost family member. "Sly… I'm so sorry, but you can't just march up and talk to her. It would mess to much with the timeline, it could destroy the very fundamentals of reality!"

"At least let me follow her!" I was desperate. "I won't let her see me I swear-"

"No," Bentley said. Then: " _We_ won't be seen. We're coming with you. Can't very well leave you alone in your condition."

He gave me a small reassuring smile. I looked from his face to the others'. Murray gave me a thumbs up, and Carmelita… The look in her eyes was filled with pity, but also something that might have been love. She squeezed me hand. I could have kissed her. I could have kissed all of them.

We followed my mother through the night, keeping a good distance. I would have preferred a closer look, sprinting across the rooftops, but every sudden move I made was sharp and painful. So I stayed with the others on the ground, starring straight ahead of me. _Mom_. She was right there, so close, like I had never lost her. She was shorter than I remembered, but just as elegant. Her tail, almost identical to my own, was swinging gentle from side to side in the rhythm of her walk. I was dying to see her face, but she didn't turn around. Which I guess was lucky for us.

As we walked, I recognized more and more of the surroundings. Sure, I had spent years of my life in Paris, but by now we were deep, deep in Montmartre territory where only the veteran locals ever come. Yet somehow, it all had a homey feel to it. The way the crooked buildings leaned on each other for support. The chipped paint. It surprised how much of my early childhood I had forgotten.

Suddenly, my mother stopped in front of a door to a small house, not so different from those around it. She pulled out a key from her bag and locked herself in.

"Come on," I said, not wanting to let it end with a front door to my face. "There's a backyard with windows to the kitchen and living room."

And true enough, a small backyard, just room enough for a bench and hanging laundry, was just around the house. Warm light poured from the windows.

"How did you know that?" asked Murray bewildered.

I smiled and patted the hippo on his shoulder. "This was my house, big guy. I grew up here."

The yard was mostly just grass, but a sweet aroma came from the few roses I remembered my mother planting. She did everything to keep them alive.

Silently, we snuck up to the kitchen window and looked inside. Finally, I could see my mother's face. She placed her bag on the counter and shook of her wet coat. "Connor!" she yelled, putting her hair up in a clip. I'd forgotten she did that. "I'm home!"

I heard Carmelita suck in her breath and felt my stomach flip as my father entered. It was like looking in a mirror. From his unruly hair to his face markings… "Welcome home, sweetheart." He kissed my mother in the cheek, and I felt my heart grow three sizes.

"Where's Sly? I got something for him." As she said my name, I almost called out to her out of habit. _I'm right here, mom._

"I'm right here, mom!"

It was me. Me, just a kid, running into my mother's arms. It's weird seeing yourself from the outside. Like your brain has trouble not just marking yourself as another person. But I knew it was me in there. Happy, and just a kid. Carmelita squeezed my hand and mouthed _you were so cute!_ I shrugged with the biggest smile on my face.

"Did you get me something?" the little kid inside asked, beaming up at his mother.

She smiled fondly down at him and pulled a blue hat from her bag, placing it on her son's head. "There you go, now you look just like your dad."

Inside, I screamed with glee and ran in and out my father's leg. Outside, I lightly touched my blue cap, now worn from many years wear and tear.

"Can I smoke your pipe, too, dad?"

My father laughed at this and picked me up. "I think you might be a bit too young to start smoking, son." A sharp look from his wife made him add quickly: "And smoking is a nasty habit, you shouldn't ever start smoking like your old man here. But tell you what, why don't we grab the Thievius Raccoonus, and I'll tell you some stories of your ancestors. Does that sound like a good idea?"

No word could cover the excitement in the boy's eyes. I still felt it then, all these years later like an echo in my soul. Something that had never left me.

"Come on, you've got see this." I pulled on Charm's hand, over to the next window. From here we had a perfect view of the living room. Like the kitchen, it was rather modest but very cozy. Not what you might expect from a master thief and his family. The walls were filled with photos – some of me and my parents, some of original Cooper gang. Backed against the farthest wall stood a big, old wardrobe. And in the opposite corner my father was sinking into a soft, squeaking armchair.

I, the would be the small version, came racing through the door, carrying a worn leather book – the Thievius Raccoonus. The very same book we were trying to save the pages from before we were hurled into Paris. It seemed like a lifetime ago. I saw myself jumping up on my father's lab, eagerly handing him the book. He opened it and began to tell of the Coopers.

Outside the window, I was just as captivated as always. I couldn't believe it. Here I was, after all these years, listening to my father's stories once again. Every concept I had of time disappeared. No time had passed it felt; I was still that kid inside. And while dad read and acted out scenes, time continued to stand still. My smile was brighter than it had been my whole life. I could like this, crouched in my mother's roses, forever.

There was a knock on the front door.

A forceful knock.

My father handed book back to me and stood up. He looked tense. "Charlotte," he called. "Are you expecting someone?"

My mother rushed into the room next to her husband. "No," she said in a hushed voice, as not to scare her son. "Could it be the police?"

"If it was," Connor replied, "they would have told us so."

There was another knock. This time followed by a sound I would never forget. It froze my body to the very core. It was the sound of a razor-sharp claw tearing at the door. I knew now. Not just where we were, but when. To the exact date.

"No." It was barely a whisper, sinking to the ground. "No no no!"

My friend all looked to me, concerned. But I couldn't… anything. I was panicking, closing in on myself. Everything was too loud and too bright, and I couldn't breath I couldn't see I couldn't move. All I could do was fall into a spiral of thoughts. _No. Oh god please no. Not this night. Every night but this one. I can't do it, I can't watch it all over again. Please. I have to stop this._

By then, I faintly heard my father tell me, just eight years old, to go hide in the closet. I would do it, puzzled by why. I knew I would. I remembered everything vividly.

Suddenly, I sprung up. "We have to stop it!"

"What's going on?" Bentley asked, having also observed the events inside.

"Please, we have to stop it! I can't-" The sound of the front door beings smashed to pieces drowned out my voice. We couldn't see it from the windows. My mother screamed.

"CHARLOTTE!" screamed my father.

"MOM!" I cried out, rushing towards the backdoor to the kitchen.

"Murray, grab him!"

At Bentley's command, I felt Murray's big arms close around me. I trashed and clawed at him. I wanted to tell him to let me go, but all that came out were screams and sobs. I felt weak and useless and terrified. I felt just like the kid in the closet again.

From inside, we heard screaming. And glass breaking. And the unmistakable sound of gigantic metal wings, the stuff of nightmares. My father cried out in pain. I shut my eyes so tight, little golden stars danced on the inside of my eyelids. But I could still see it, deep in my memory, I was reliving what I saw from the crack between the closet doors that night. This night. Five dark figures. My mother; lying on the floor as if she was asleep, in a puddle of red. My father; fighting with everything he had in him. My father, the man who couldn't be caught, couldn't be defeated, being overpowered. How Clockwerk, personally, grabbed him by the neck and flung him against the wall. His head hit the concrete. He died with and awful crunch. His body went limp and as he slid down the wall, the back of his head left a bloody trail.

By the silence of the house, I knew the Fiendish Five were now ripping the Thievius Racoonus apart, dividing the pages among them. They left, leaving the front door hanging loosely by the knobs. I went limp. Murray hesitatively let go of me, but I couldn't stand, so I sunk to my knees in the cold, wet grass. I wished I would just pass out. Just sleep forever. Seemed to be the only way to insure I would never have to relive this nightmare ever again.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I seemed to wake. It was Carmelita. She had knelt down in front of my, taking my hands in hers. It took all the strength I had to meet her eyes. I knew my own would be bloodshot.

"Sly." Her voice was hoarse. She had been crying.

"I sat in the closet for five hours before the police found me," I told, vaguely nodding in the direction of the living room. "Just clutching my father's cane."

She pressed her palms against mine. She was shaking. I leaned forward, or maybe I fell, and buried my face in her hair. It was soaked and smelled like mud. It was comforting.

She didn't try to hug me or hold me in anyway. She just let me be and continued holding my hands in hers. "I know that there is nothing I can say," she croaked, "that will make this better. It's horrible. So all I can say is that I am sorry. I'm so sorry, Sly."

I felt the hands of Murray and Bentley on my back, silently sharing the pain they knew I couldn't carry alone. That I had never had to carry alone.

I got up, pulling Carmelita with me. "Let's go," I said.

She hesitated. "But what about…" She glanced from the living room window and back to me. "He's all alone…"

I offered the tiniest of smiles, the only one I could afford in the moment and said: "Don't worry. He'll be fine. I should know."

We left the scene behind, none of us saying anything. In the silence, Carmelita was still holding my hand and Bentley and Murray was by my side.

 _He'll be fine_ , I knew.

* * *

 **I've always had an interest in Sly's traumatizing past and it's effect on him as a person. When they gave us a time machine in the fourth game, I saw an opportunity and took it. Please do leave a review, I beg of you! I write fanfics for practise and would love some feedback.**

 **Btw, if you're curious, Sly's mother is never named in the games, so I decided to name her after Charlotte Corday, a french assassin from the 18th century.**


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